EMP Catastrophe , Hamilton, Grace [phonics readers txt] 📗

The dinner had been a chaotic affair in that small, contained way that family get-togethers can be. He remembered Patton excitedly talking Ruth’s ear off as she stuck the rosemary chicken breasts into the oven, and how Kathleen scolded Allison for turning into a texting zombie, and then promptly scolded Matthew for checking his emails too often. How David had grumbled when Ruth put him to work whipping the potatoes. Matthew had poured himself a glass of wine, his thoughts on a contract he was waiting to finalize. All it would need was his signature, and then another fun project and a payday was promised to him. He checked his email again and ignored Kathleen’s scowl.

Over dinner, David and Matthew had gotten into a light-hearted disagreement over politics. David had just shot off another barbed comment to Matthew when he suddenly gasped and put his hand over his chest. His face went deadly pale. Sweat beaded his brow. When Matthew put his hand on David’s arm to steady him, his father sank to the floor as though he were a puppet and all of his strings had suddenly been cut.

“You’re not going deep enough,” Wyatt said, breaking Matthew’s memory to pieces.

“I can do it,” Matthew said through gritted teeth. He began to push harder into David’s chest, hating that with each pump of his fists, David’s face seemed to become that much more lax, as if all his life were seeping out of him. Matthew couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop this. Why couldn’t he stop it? He had to stop it.

He remembered how David had slipped through his arms that first time. He’d been so shocked. David’s body had headed toward the carpet as if he didn’t know how to respond properly. As if David had lost control of his limbs. Matthew had fumbled at David’s arm, wrenching it awkwardly, as David landed on the floor with a crash. His mother shrieked. Kathleen gasped before crying out, “I’m calling 911!” Allison walked back into the dining room and said, “Dad, what’s wrong with Grandpa?” in a lost voice, while Patton peeked around her with eyes wide as saucers.

Matthew hadn’t had time to respond, then. His fingers had touched the loose skin of David’s neck, seeking a pulse. There was no steadying thump, not even a stilted one, against David’s neck or even under his jaw. In an instant, the image of David as this Goliath of a man had shattered and fragmented. For Matthew, David had always been a staple of his life, someone that seemed immortal, who would never be absent. Now, that figure was leaving and would be gone forever unless Matthew stopped it. He had to stop it.

Matthew had taken a CPR course a while ago, as a qualification for a marketing stunt as well as for his own peace of mind. He vaguely remembered what he was supposed to do. He never thought he’d have to use that training in his life. Falling to his knees on the carpet, Matthew had started to do chest compressions on his father and felt the sudden pop under his hands as David’s ribs broke from the pressure. The minutes before the ambulance arrived were punctuated by fear and tears. Matthew had never been more relieved than when the paramedics swooped in and took over for him. David had been loaded on a stretcher, an oxygen mask slipped over his nose and mouth, and one of the EMTs called out that David was temporarily stable before hauling his father into their van.

As Matthew had watched the red and blue lights illuminate him in strobes, he knew that something had fundamentally changed. It was a fleeting impression, because Ruth had commanded him to get in the van with his father, yelling that she and Kathleen would follow the ambulance to the hospital in the car. He had chucked his keys at Kathleen and scrambled into the ambulance. He had tried to fold himself into a small space while the EMTs passed vials to each other, strung tubing from liquid pouches to David’s arms, and spoke in medical jargon beyond Matthew’s understanding.

Now, there would be no ambulance to swoop in and save the day. There were no EMTs to arrive like knights, ready to stabilize and transfer his father’s failing body to a safe haven of treatment. There was only a lonely stretch of road on a mountain, and Matthew’s fragmented memories.

“Matthew,” Wyatt said, once more shattering Matthew’s recollection. “Man, you’re still not going deep enough. You have to press harder.”

“I’m trying,” Matthew said and put as much weight and pressure as he could into the chest compressions. He felt strangely weak, as if after everything, this would be the event that stole his strength. Beneath him, he watched as David slipped further away. The compressions only seemed to rock David back and forth instead of making him breathe again. Matthew bit down on a cry of anger. He tried to keep his rhythm by humming “When the Saints Go Marching In,” but he couldn’t hold the beat. His arms felt like limp noodles. Beside him, Patton let out a thick sob.

“Matthew, this isn’t going to work,” Wyatt said. “Your compressions aren’t working.”

With a grunt, Matthew looked up at Wyatt. “Can you do better?” he demanded.

“Yeah,” Wyatt said bluntly, but Matthew knew the Marine wasn’t being arrogant. “Let me.”

“Okay,” Matthew said, even though it was the hardest thing he had ever done, and let Wyatt’s hands take over. He heard the quiet crunch of broken ribs on Wyatt’s first compressions, and Matthew knew Wyatt had been right. Matthew cursed himself as he slumped on the ground and Patton put a hand on his shoulder. Once again, Matthew had wasted a ton of time thinking that he knew what he was doing, and instead he’d only made things worse.

The crunch of gravel came to his right. He looked up to see that Max and Jade had caught up with them. Jade